


Romantic Castiel Headcanons

by webcricket



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10833303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/webcricket/pseuds/webcricket
Summary: Random fluffy ideas about you and your angel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Castiel is ancient.** He beheld the birth of stars, the discovery of fire, the rise and fall of kings and queens, wars on and for Heaven and Earth. Yet all those eons of time measure as insignificant periods of nothingness to him held up to the relatively short number of blissful days he has counted since knowing you. All the epic beauty and destruction he has witnessed seem inconsequential in comparison to your inner and outer beauty and the way a single doting look from you can wreck him in the most pleasurable of ways. Every time he gazes into your eyes he sees the entire universe and perceives the total span of his very existence.

**Castiel would do anything to keep you safe.** Knowing the lengths he would go to to protect you, the lines he would cross, the alliances he would betray without a second thought is the one thing in all of Heaven and Earth that terrifies your stoic angel.

**Castiel doesn’t merely love you.** After all, angels weren’t made to love. His devotion runs unfathomably deeper than human love. He worships you - puts his entire faith in you. He warms his celestial being in the fiery radiance of your soul. He breathes in your bubbling laughter like life sustaining oxygen. He nourishes himself upon tender touches – the light tickle of your fingers at the nape of his neck and carded sensually through dark hair. He bathes in the sweet nothings you mutter against his skin as you make love. The gentle words of Enochian whispered nightly in your ear, limbs lazily tangled together as you drift to sleep, are pure veneration.

**Castiel feels hunger.** For an angel, food is simply a not especially interesting conglomeration of molecules co-mingling on the tongue. But there is one taste he absolutely craves, an inimitable intoxicating essence that makes his mouth water in anticipation, an appetite he can never sate - you.

**Castiel’s human vessel belies the enormity of his true angelic form.** Powerful, awe-inspiring, fearsome to behold, the angel is a skyscraper sized wavelength of celestial intent who in your presence cannot help but feel small and unworthy of your unyielding love.

**Castiel uses his grace both as a gift and selfishly.** With it, he can heal, soothe, calm, persuade, and reach his influence beyond the physical limits of his vessel exactly as God intended angels to do. However, skimming your body with this raw unhindered power, he quickly discovered his grace too can tease, delight, and pleasure. In fact, nothing pleases him more profoundly than spending whole days and nights kissing your flesh and caressing every inch of your body with feather-light tendrils and titillating bursts of the unadulterated energy of his celestial being. A secondary consideration at best (and only of import since it seems to make you happy), the orgasmic release of his vessel is a mere flitting shadow in the light of the illuminating bliss he experiences when touching you with his grace.

**Castiel still doesn’t understand the concept of personal space.** Sharing the back seat of the Impala with you, listening to the Winchesters brotherly bickering in the front seat, his fingers glide across the expanse of tan leather between your bodies to nudge lightly at your thigh, politely imploring you take his hand in your own, or better yet, that you close the distance to snuggle against him, the weight of your body, it’s warmth, the steady rise and fall of your chest reassuring him you are indeed real. In the sanctity of your lover’s bed, he unfurls his wings in all their raven-feathered tattered glory to curl protectively around your languid figure such that an outside observer could not begin to comprehend that the vigilant angel and the drowsing human held fast in his arms are separate entities.

**Castiel shares your dreams.** Angels do not require sleep, and thus lack the gift of dreams. But each night when your mind succumbs to slumber, soul fleeing the world of wakefulness to wander the vastness of your imagination, Castiel follows you - alert to banish the darker influences of your unconscious thoughts with the shining light of his grace, content to observe the splendid world of your construction, cherishing the inevitable moments he discovers himself in the idyllic universe of your creation.

**Castiel’s problem was never too much heart.** The angels mistakenly believe Castiel’s problem was always too much heart. The truth of the matter is that Castiel’s problem is a heart boundless enough to love humanity, to love you, but lacking even so much as a faltering beat of love for himself. Some consider him courageous and loyal in his perpetual tendency toward righteous self-sacrifice; however, his actions simply mask a defeated sense of self-worth. The day you gave him the entirety of your heart to count as his own is the day he began to live.

**Castiel infallibly believes in your perfection.** In the freckles and tiny sun specks peppering your skin that you bemoan, he finds constellations. In the deep and shallow scars of hunts past you scratch fretfully at, he appreciates persevering strength. In the stretch marks, knobs, and curves of your figure you abhor, he sees the hard-earned comforts of life. In the nearly imperceptible creases of the delicate flesh around your eyes and mouth you scrutinize in the mirror, he recognizes the very definition of joy. In his adoring blue-enameled gaze, you are his father’s most perfect creation.

**Castiel has doubts.** He doesn’t believe he deserves you. Each time you profess your love to him he experiences it as a revelation - a profound sense of serene joy warmly pervading his being, causing the knees of his vessel to weaken, as if he is hearing your confession for the first time. How could an unblemished soul like yourself freely choose to love a flawed, broken, and imperfect creature? Endlessly shadowed by a cloud of doubt, Castiel strives to be the angel, the man, you believe him to be and deserve.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Castiel headcanons...

**Castiel’s heart, like the heart of any angel, is borrowed and belongs to his vessel.** As such, he expressed deep and sincere regret at not being able to freely give his heart over to you when you offered up yours to him. His remorse abated only when you assured him your heart was big enough for both of you to share. Laying his head to your chest, listening to the regular drumming rhythm of your heart as you lazily combed your fingers through his hair, he found ample space for his love between the beats. In that moment he understood the old human adage that home is where the heart is.  
**Castiel knows how to make your nethers quiver.** Point of fact, he was there when the Kama Sutra was being written. At the time he found the text on the nature and pleasure of love rather puzzling – wondering why humans would engage in such seemingly pointless acts of hedonism except for the obvious and necessary purposes of reproduction. His bewilderment rapidly dissipated the first time he elicited a pleasure laden orgasmic moan of his name from your writhing body – the salacious cry vibrating to the very core of his celestial being with resounding clarity.  
**Castiel would go to the ends of the Earth to make you happy.** That hole in the wall bakery three states over with the amazing croissants you’re always going on about? Yeah, he’ll happily spend the night driving there and back simply to bask in the delight of your radiant smile when you untie the neatly wrapped white paperboard box to reveal the unexpected treat. Nothing in the world pleases him more than seeing your soul light up with pure joy.  
**Castiel’s idea of romance is as classic as it gets.** He holds doors open for you. He offers you his jacket when there is a chill in the air. He surprises you with flowers just because. He listens attentively to every word you utter, no matter how mundane, as if it were the most important thing in the world in that particular moment. Date night dinners are an over-the-top candle lit bunker roof-top table for two, replete with a perfectly chilled bottle of bubbly, fresh flowers, and your favorite take-out (you and Cas, with strongly worded input from the Winchesters regarding a certain smoky situation in the bunker kitchen, collectively decided early on in your relationship that cooking was not the angel’s forte). Castiel strives daily to demonstrate how important you are to him.  
**Even when he can’t be by your side, Castiel is there for you.** He leaves you encouraging notes in your overnight duffle praising your strength, on the mirror in the bathroom reminding you of your beauty, in the trunk of your car, wedged between the rock salt rounds and the holy water extolling the notion that you can do anything you set your mind to, even going so far as to secretly tuck handwritten sonnets and professions of love into your clothing pockets for you to randomly discover – all to remind you of his unwavering devotion and your importance.  
**You’re Castiel’s guilty pleasure.** The disobedient angel accepts that falling in love with you was strictly forbidden by Heaven. He figures now is not the time to begin abiding by their archaic rules – not when the unmatched glory of your devotion to him and his to you, the warmth of your soft flesh molding beneath his fingertips and against his vessel, and the intoxicating honeyed taste of your mouth and skin and arousal seem to him to be so very right in a universe of wrong.  
**Castiel likes it rough.** You can consistently determine without asking how well the hunt went when your angel returns to the bunker based on the darkening barometer of his pupils when he shines a lustful gaze upon you. When things have gone perfectly and his confidence is bursting to the brim, he absolutely loses control and throws any and all inhibitions about the relative frailty of your human constitution to the wind. He has shattered the frames of so many beds fucking you to the extremes of bodily bliss that your mattress is permanently located on the floor. And, after that unfortunate incident with the library table, you’ve been officially banned by the Winchesters from fornicating in any of the shared living areas – not that this edict stops Cas from taking you in whatever location or position happens to be most convenient when this amorous mood assails him.  
**Castiel also often takes his time.** If the hunt went badly, as they frequently do, especially if it was due to some failure or misjudgment on the angel’s part, his relentless self-doubts invariably manifest in the form of reverent and meticulous love-making. Gentle in his caresses lest he abrade your skin. Careful in his passionate kisses not to take away your breath. Soft spoken as he whispers his devotion over and into every inch of your heated flesh. Limbs wound tenderly around your back, hugging your shuddering sweat-sheened frame to his chest, he isn’t chasing his release – an ecstasy he doesn’t believe he deserves in these moments – he desires only to hold you close and show you beyond the overhanging shadow of his own doubt how much he truly loves and worships you. Even if he gets everything else in life wrong, he is determined to make loving you the one thing he absolutely gets right.  
**Castiel’s affection for you is born of unbreakable habit.** During his epoch on Earth, the angel has observed a great depth and variety of humanity’s habits. Winnowing this window of reference down to his time spent with you, the Winchesters, and the influence of free will, he began to develop a good deal of angelically motivated, and very human, habits. Such as, for example, a terrible pattern of doing the wrong things for all the right reasons. There’s also his habit of caring, often at the neglect of himself, for those he considers friends – helping them in their fights regardless of the foe and healing them of their ailments at the expense of his celestial grace. With you, this care was different – deeper and more profound. It never occurred to him to tuck Sam or Dean into bed when they fell asleep in an uncomfortable position while researching a case. Yet time and again he did not hesitate to pluck a book or laptop from your lax fingers and lift you in strong arms to convey you to comfort. The brothers went whole days hunting without eating in spite of Dean’s rumbling stomach and without a second thought by the angel, but he always ensured you never lacked for a timely snack or meal when distracted by a case. Caring for you in these little ways is deeply ingrained in his nature. Though he sees himself as an essentially broken being, you are the one habit he vows never to break.  
**Castiel must constantly reassures himself of your existence.** The long glinting sapphires stares from across the room? The angel reveling in witness to the beauty of your soul as though seeing you for the first time. The twining touch of his fingertips in yours? The gentle pressure of his palm to the small of your back? The light brush of the back of his hand across yours as you stand side by side? Proof to him of the physical concreteness of your presence. The lingering kiss upon your lips, his unshaven chin tickling the delicate flesh of your neck until you dissolve into bubbling laughter and clutch at the lapels of his coat begging reprieve? Testimony to him of the certainty of your reality.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW headcanons...

**Castiel loves it when you say his name.** Like the angels at their daily roll call, Castiel gets an extra special thrill out of hearing his name uttered by you – especially when those three syllables are leaden with your overwhelming desire for him. Whether whispered seductively into his ear as you pepper feather-light kisses along the line of his prickly jaw, spoken in a silent prayer mingled with the most sinful thoughts to compel him to your side, sharply panted or softly whimpered, bodies knotted in the throes of love making, a gasping cry from your lips as he thrusts rhythmically into you, your voice never fails to ignite within him an intense surge of pleasure coursing through his angelic being. Hearing his name on your tongue is never more gratifying than when you pivot your hips to meet his final urgent stuttering thrusts, walls blissfully pulsing around him, breathlessly moaning Castiel over and over as he drives his twitching cock deep and floods you with his warm release.  
**Your praise makes Castiel very happy.** Your admiration of his vessel’s bluest of blue eyes doesn’t make the angel blush – although you swear his divine grace shines through in their warm regard of you. Nor do your approval of his dashing good looks and perfect physique, also courtesy of Jimmy Novak, particularly delight him. Rather, it’s when you gush over his skill in combat and that certain brazen fight move he threw in there that his cheeks flush pink. He glances down, a small bashful smile tugging at his mouth, when you go on about the excitement you derive watching the deft way he brandishes his angel blade, flicking the weapon in his grasp and striking foes with it as an extension of himself. He can’t help but grin with contentment when you quiver beneath the tender affectionate ministrations of his grace, telling him just how good his unadulterated angelic caresses feel. Your adulation speaks to him most of all in these intimate moments, his celestial heart singing with pure joy, when you praise the unseen angel expertly wielding the vessel.  
**Castiel isn’t into public displays of affection.** And for good reason. He can’t control himself around you. Your touch – the innocent brush of your fingers to the back of his hand, an affectionate nuzzle of his shoulder, the tender peck of a kiss to his lips, the gentle squeeze of his thigh in the backseat of the Impala – drives him wild with desire and distraction. It’s hard to work a case effectively when you’re desperately groping each other and chasing release in the backseat of the Impala while Sam and Dean are interviewing victim’s families. Or when you’re fucking in the nearest convenient alcove or alley while the brothers give actual chase to a monster. The angel prefers to unleash his affection as private demonstrations of adoration. Unhurried and uninhibited, one-on-one he leaves you with no doubts as to the boundlessness of his affection.  
**Castiel is kinky as fuck.** The angel takes your physical relationship very seriously. He does his research when it comes to your pleasure. And thanks to Dean’s sage advice, he goes straight to the source in his never-ending quest for knowledge – adult bookstores. He never fails to surprise you with something new. He also never fails to make the proprietors of these establishments mildly uncomfortable with his highly specific and gravely serious lines of questioning. First he purchased books – the straightforward and illustrated 101 Exciting Positions to Try at Home, or the collected annals simply titled, Anal. Not to be outdone by your personal favorite, one which you begged the angel to commit to memory, the Idiot’s Guide to Oral. He has brought home an assortment of dildos, anal beads, a vibrating cock ring, nipple clamps, blindfolds, costumes, BDSM gear, hot wax, handcuffs, and a variety of arousal enhancing lubricants. Embracing the diverse range of human hedonism, the angel is eager and willing to try it all with you.  
**The power of Castiel’s love moves Heaven and Earth.** Like, literally. This forbidden romantic rapture between angel and human has cosmic consequences. Or, to be more specific, seismic ones. Scientists are still scratching their heads trying to figure out the source of the uptick in tectonic tremors centered in Lebanon, Kansas, well north of the usual epicenter of geologic activity in the state. In fact, an entire special consortium of experts in the field is assembling to discuss and present their findings on the topic at a seismology convention later this year. These mini-earthquakes reverberate too to thunder against the proverbial pearly gates of Heaven. The angels guarding the doors have their suspicions as to the source and rumors abound. The age old idiom that one can move heaven and earth for love…yeah, it was created with Castiel’s corporal devotion to you in mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wedding day edition!

  * **When Castiel sees you in your dress for the first time it takes his breath away** ; this is quite a feat considering the angel of the Lord doesn’t require oxygen. Robed in white, flower sprays of diminutive cerulean periwinkle and delicate baby’s breath flecking your hair, his angelic sight perceives the waves of pure joy radiating from your figure when you peer up to meet his damp blues. With Dean’s steadying grip on his shoulder, the angel’s heart stammers, skips a beat, then finds rhythm as it always does in your presence to thud in time to the soundless pad of your bare feet on the lush green grass.
  * **The righteous man also happens to be the best man.** The designation was half Dean’s flagrant assumption and half Sam reassuring Cas that Dean really was the _best man_ for the job. Waiting at the altar, a rustic wooden arch draped in vines and Spring blooms scenting the air, the elder Winchester reaches out to adjust the angel’s skewed blue-checked bow tie for what must surely be the hundredth time today. Satisfied with his work, his fingers fall to flutter over his left tux pocket. Finding it empty of substance, he sucks in a sharp breath, terror illumining his greens. Nudging his brother with a lanky elbow, Sam mutters through a beaming smile, “ _Other_ pocket.” Dean’s frantic fingertips probe the fabric; a comforting clink indicates the rings are tucked safely therein. Panicked features relaxing, ever a _better man_ with his brother at his side, Dean winks in silent gratitude and straightens his own smile.
  * **Castiel wrote three single-spaced double-sided pages of vows professing the profound depth of his devotion.** Still, he believes there are not enough words in any language nor any metaphor capable of capturing the magnitude of his love for you or what yours means to him. The roughened pads of his fingers feel the insubstantial weight and meaning etched upon these sheets of paper carefully folded and secured inside his coat when the officiant bids him pronounce his vows. He realizes with solemn trepidation the rehearsed sentiment, although sincere, is not enough. He fears that he, too, is unworthy and never will be _enough_. At the encouraging squeeze of your trembling hand clasping warm over his, his worry-riddled regard lifts to search your eyes. In them, his sunlit reflection swirling midst gladdened tears in the halo of your irises, he discerns the same shared worry. _“Together,”_ you pray for only the angel to hear. _Together_ , he nods, anxiety melting to soften his aspect with tender affection – the love shining in his eyes speaking everything he wishes he could say aloud.
  * **Everyone you and the angel know and care for is there to witness the ceremony and… _the_ _kiss_.** Oh my, the kiss! _No one_ in attendance, including _you_ , is prepared for the public outpouring of passion unleashed from the stoical angel’s lips when the officiant triumphantly declares, “You may now kiss the bride.” Blues blazing, sparks of elation igniting fires of fondness across their enameled surface, Castiel grasps you around the waist and draws you flush to his torso. Palm skimming up between your shoulder blades, fingers digging firm through the silken cloth covering your hip, he spins and dips you in his arms. Gasped _ohs_ and muffled _ahs_ erupt from the attendees. His parted pink mouth plunges to yours, all eager teeth and tongue followed by an impious groan when you tangle your fingers through his dark curls to return the fervor. Murmurs of shock over the typically reserved angel’s zealous demonstration ripple through the crowd. The officiant’s cheeks flush and he mops his forehead with a sleeve. Dean hums low, smirking in approval. Sam’s smile stretches for miles. In the front row, Donna lets rip a wolf whistle as Jody stands up on the seat next to her to give the heated kiss a standing ovation. Gesturing at the gathering, the women quickly get everyone on their feet and furiously clapping and cheering. When the angel finally finishes ravishing your mouth and twists you upright, you’re dizzy and clutching at his arms to keep your knees from buckling. “ _Castiel_ ,” his name lilts from your quivering throat. Smiling, his lips brush yours once more, tender and soft, just to taste his name on them.
  * **A hunter and an angel, surmounting incredible odds to meet at the altar, you haven’t spoken much, if at all, about what happily ever after looks like beyond _together_.** Content to live in the moment, to hold tight to and protect the precious present you already have, you eschew fantasizing about an uncertain tomorrow to savor your love for one another right now. “So, does this mean I’m going to get the chance to be a big brother soon?” Jack’s question is as innocent and pure as his gentle nature. A family, a future with children, your children – you tense, not having thought before about the possibility of creating a family with your angel outside of one forged, not by blood, but by the unbreakable fiery bonds of friendship and common circumstance. Sensing a subtle shift in your demeanor, Castiel excuses himself from a side conversation with Sam and Dean where they, well mostly Dean, somehow manage to muse in broad non-specific terms about the finer points of consummating a marriage. Dean has been very seriously talking about buttering toast in disturbing detail for at least 5 minutes. Cas settles a supportive palm to the small of your back to let you know he’s there. Without speaking, his touch tells you whatever you’re thinking, he’s got you and he’s not going anywhere. Leaning into your angel, deflecting the query for another time, you ask the boy, “Would you like that, Jack?” The Nephilim bobs his head, shock of ruddy blonde bangs bouncing on his forehead with barely repressed enthusiasm. “Would _you_?” Cas murmurs into your hair, more vibration than voice, as he embraces you fully from behind. Drawing you against the solid warmth of his body, he presses a kiss into your temple and slides his hands to rest over your belly.




End file.
